Our car pulls on to the stretch of gravel road. We roll down the windows and breathe in the familiar dust-filled air. I’m bouncing in my seat, unable to contain my joy because after 51 weeks, I am home again. My name is Laura, and I am a full-blown Cornerstone addict.
After fifteen years of attending the fest, I always think I know what to expect. And I’m always wrong.
My group is blessed with the privilege of coming a few days early to Cornerstone Farm before the fest begins. As we’re setting up camp, some friends of mine from The Scoffer ask me to jam with them at the Hobo Camp over by Underground Stage. I’m welcomed by familiar tattooed faces of the crust punks that I’ve met over the years, and we sit around a bonfire enjoying the calm before the storm of fest-goers that are already lining up outside the gates.
One of the guys across the circle from me decides it’s time to add to his tattoo collection. I watch as his friend carefully sterilizes a needle, wraps it in thread, and dips it in ink. She begins pricking his forearm, injecting the black ink, leaving behind a new tattoo. I’ve known for a while that people get tattoos this way, but I’d never seen it done.
Yes, even after so many years at the fest, there’s always something new to see, which is what brings me back every year, toting a new friend or two to share these experiences with, because these experiences become stories we’ll be telling for years to come. I’m looking forward to this week and the chance to share these stories with you and everyone else who hears them.
P.S. I’ll be posting to Twitter about the fest all week. If you wanna follow along, you can find me at www.twitter.com/MinorPunk56